Good Enough
by PrincessCocoa
Summary: But what I do know is that somehow, against all odds, we're both alive. And for now that's good enough. (Originally a fill for the meme.)
1. Chapter 1

**And here we have Martin whump (what can I say, I love hurt/comfort). This story involves some intense torture; someone on the meme said it was more descriptive than they'd been expecting, so please consider yourself warned. **

**I intended this as gen but it's an extremely tight friendship so you can really interpret this however you like!**

* * *

_How could this have happened…_

_How did such a promising prospect turn into something so utterly horrible?_

* * *

"Oh boys!"

Douglas looked up from his book, eyeing his CEO suspiciously. There were few things in the world that could make Carolyn practically prance out of the closet she called an office, none of which were good for him.

Both Martin and Arthur looked at her expectantly – Martin wearing the same suspicious look on his face that Douglas was sure he had on his own.

After a few moments of silence (probably made so as to deliberately annoy her audience, namely, Douglas), she began.

"Standby is so dreadfully dull, isn't it?"

Martin straightened up, "We've only been on standby for two d-"

Carolyn held up her hand, glaring Martin into silence.

"Now, as I was saying. Standby is extremely boring and not particularly lucrative which is why I have some fantastic news!"

Douglas rolled his eyes. He knew what was coming and didn't like it one bit. He was tired and was looking forward to going home at a reasonable hour, as he usually did during standby days. Even Martin seemed to be exhausted from their incessant flight schedule of the last few weeks.

"You'll all be happy to know that Mr. Atkins is, once again, in need of our services."

"Ah, the nefarious Nathaniel Atkins; once again ruining my plans of a few quiet evenings at home. Pray tell, Carolyn, what exactly does this man do, again, that requires so much international travel?"

Carolyn shot another glare in Douglas's direction, though the effect was less than what she'd probably hoped for. After a few minutes of pointed staring, she sighed and answered. "Douglas, you know as well as I do that Mr. Atkins speaks little of his career. All I know which is, coincidentally, the same amount of information as you, is that he works in the government. We will not bother the man with such petty talk so long as he continues to use our company." She stopped a moment to rub her hands together. Douglas was, for a moment, reminded of a child in a candy store carrying unlimited funds. "Mr. Atkins could be the sole saviour of MJN. With all the flights he's been booking and will likely continue to book, our lovely little airdot will finally be, dare I say it, in the green."

Martin perked up a bit. Douglas could tell he was excited at the prospect of the company having money with which to pay him.

Carolyn glanced at Martin and rolled her eyes, "Now don't get too excited. This is only assuming the man continues to fly with us. Which means, Martin, no random delays, no diversions, nothing! We cannot afford to annoy or inconvenience Mr. Atkins, understood?"

Martin nodded, looking particularly cowed.

"And as for you Mr. Richardson!" Douglas merely raised an eyebrow and sat back in his chair. "No idiot games like, for example, passenger derby. No annoying the customer with your 'jokes' that you, and only you, believe are funny. In fact, stay off the intercom altogether. The last thing I need is Mr. Atkins complaining about snarky comments made by the ever-egotistical 'sky god'. Understood?"

"Ever-egotistical? Carolyn you wound me."

"Mum, Mum! What about me! What do you want me to not-do on the flight," Arthur asked, practically bouncing up and down with excitement.

"Actually Arthur, you're staying with me. Mr. Atkins told me that he didn't believe a steward was necessary on this flight since he'd likely be sleeping or working the whole way. He's flown with us enough to know where the drinks are, anyway, should he need one."

At this, Arthur deflated a bit, but immediately perked back up, "Oh boy! It'll be like a mother-son adventure. This will be so much fun Mum! What do you want to do? Oh I know! I'll make a list and we can choose what to do. Brilliant!" Arthur ran off into Carolyn's office, apparently with the pretense of "making the list" on her whiteboard.

"My, Carolyn, allowing the passenger to get his own drinks? Is that not against regulation?"

"Bah regulation, our company barely complies with any rules as it is."

In the background, Martin spluttered, "C-C-Carolyn! You can't. It's not safe for the passenger to be walking about the plane all on his own, let alone use the cupboards in the galley!"

"Frankly, Martin, I don't care. Mr. Atkins is paying us a large sum of money to fly him to Turkey in peace and quiet. If he happens to grab a bottled water out of the front, it's of no difference to me. Now. I have the files and your itineraries all printed up. Martin, you fill out the paperwork and then you're all free to go. You're heading to Dalaman, Turkey and will need to be here for the flight at 6 o'clock sharp. And by god, Douglas, if you're late, so help me."

"Honestly, Carolyn, he's flown with us many times before, what's so different now?"

"He may or may not have alluded to needing many more flights over the course of the next, oh, five months. Flights we won't get if he doesn't like the way we operate. He's dealt with our antics up to this point, yes, but I'd rather not push our luck. Now, get prepared for tomorrow, and I will see you both in the morning."

* * *

Douglas pulled into the parking lot nearest the portacabin at precisely 6:15 am; he'd never been on-time to a single MJN flight but the incentive of confirmed future employment was enough to make him arrive slightly earlier than usual.

Carolyn was, as he had been expecting, standing with her arms crossed at the entrance to the building; apparently attempting to burn a hole through Douglas's tinted windows with her eyes. As far as Douglas could tell, however, the client had not yet arrived so he had nothing to worry about.

"He's due to arrive in fifteen minutes. Now go help Martin with the preparations for the flight."

"What? No scolding? Aren't you going to send me to time-out, Mother?"

"Seeing as how I was expecting you to arrive here fifteen minutes later than you did, I'm not nearly as angry as I could be."

Douglas smirked, "Did you hear that? I think that might have been the collective sigh of relief from every human being within a three mile radius." He took a few steps in the direction of the plane, "I'll be back for the rest of the paperwork in a bit, then."

"No need, Martin has got it all taken care of. I've already bid him farewell, and now to you too. You can both set out for takeoff as soon as you see that Mr. Atkins is properly seated."

"My, my, how brisk. And here I was hoping for a packed lunch and a goodbye kiss."

Carolyn rolled her eyes and sighed. "Douglas, just get on the plane. Martin's probably on his third walkaround by now."

* * *

"Ah, Douglas, finally. Here, take this."

Douglas reached forward and plucked his itinerary from Martin's hand. Martin was doing preliminary checks (probably for the hundredth time) and barely spared Douglas a glance.

"Someone seems a bit edgy this morning. Too much of Arthur's 'made-with-love' specialty coffee?"

Martin looked up for a moment before turning back to the control panel, "Arthur's not here Douglas."

"Hm then it's something else. Let's make a list, shall we? Now, what could possibly make Martin so tightly-wound on the morning of a flight? Well…more tightly-wound than usual."

"Just trying to make sure everything's going to be ok. Mr. Atkins actually seems to like us - he even chats with me sometimes. I'd rather like to keep on his good side."

"Well I think we'll be fine. He would not be flying with us so much had he had any qualms. Now, it looks like the man has arrived. I'm going to go back and make sure he gets sat down properly, seeing as how we don't have a steward to do that for us, and we can take off."

* * *

The trip to Turkey was actually quite pleasant, though the landing left something to be desired. Douglas could tell that Martin was still kicking himself for touching down to Earth as if the plane were one gigantic bouncy-ball. He'd even apologised several (thousand) times to the client, though Mr. Atkins had simply chuckled and assured him it was all right.

Now they found themselves at the hotel, opening the door to their shared room.

"Well," said Douglas as he walked inside. "This place is a bit nicer than usual, I'll give her that. But a shared room when we're the only ones here? Honestly, MJN will be in the green and this will still be our predicament."

Martin chuckled, "Oh stop complaining, Douglas. Besides, we'll probably hardly be in here anyway. We've got four days to ourselves while Mr. Atkins does his business."

"Mmm yes, four days which I intend to use to both work on my extraordinary tan and see some of the sights this town of Dalaman has to offer. It's not often we get to fly to Turkey."

Martin nodded, already looking out the window. Douglas knew they boy was short on funds and would probably just wander the small town instead of actually doing anything. In fact, he'd probably end up coming back to the hotel for a cheap meal whenever he was hungry. Now, that was no way to vacation; perhaps he could bring Martin along, at least for the first day or so.

"You know, Martin, there's a lovely tour that takes us over to some historic sights on the Kapıdağ Peninsula. Historic ruins are something I appreciate, though they're not very fun when one is alone. Perhaps you'd like to join me? That is if you're not too tired from the flight, of course."

"Douglas…I can't really, um, I'll just. I'll just wander around; maybe head to the beach or something."

"If you're worried about the cost, think nothing of it. The tour is extremely cheap and, since I've invited you, I'll cover it. Now get changed, we're heading out in twenty minutes."

* * *

The ruins of Kyra were actually quite gorgeous and following the tour, Martin and Douglas headed out to eat at a small restaurant near the docks.

Douglas recognised some of the other tourists from the boat ride sitting not too far away. He recalled that they hadn't been the most amiable; all three of the men had sat still and quiet throughout most of the excursion. In fact, should he be willing to admit it to himself, they made him a bit uneasy. He'd prefer to leave their company as soon as possible following the meal.

When Martin had finished his meal (and had thanked him for the fifth time since entering the restaurant), Douglas stood and led Martin back out to the docks. They were practically empty, not helping his uneasy feeling much at all.

It was a short walk back to the road, one that seemed never-ending the farther they got.

_You're being ridiculous, Richardson. This is a tiny town on a Thursday evening - of course it's going to be a bit empty._ His thoughts, however, didn't help his mood at all and he found himself rushing along, Martin scrambling to keep up.

"Douglas! Slow down, what's gotten into you?"

Douglas didn't even look back, instead focusing on the road that he could now see. "I'm just a bit tired, Martin. And seeing as how taxis are a rare beast in this city, I'd like to get back to the road and have the chance of getting one sooner, rather than later."

Martin slowed for a second, reaching for his phone, "If you're so worried we can just call one. Here, I've got my phone, I can find the number and –"

Douglas spun around upon hearing Martin cut off and the soft _oomph_ sound that followed. He watched in slow motion as a man drew a now empty syringe from Martin's neck. The look of blind panic on his face was immediately relaxed into one of complete unconsciousness.

"MARTIN!"

Douglas stepped forward: he'd grab Martin's now-slack body from the man and make a run for it.

Instead, his plans were cut short when two pairs of strong hands grabbed each of his arms, propelling him backwards.

"Stop! Let me go, for god's sake…Martin!"

Douglas was dragged to the ground and watched helplessly as Martin was bundled into the boot of an idle car. He struggled a bit more until he felt a needle pierce his skin, at which point he went still – afraid that the needle would break otherwise.

The last thing he saw before falling into unconsciousness was the smiling face of one of the three tourists from the restaurant.


	2. Chapter 2

Douglas awoke to the worried face of his captain. For a moment, he thought that perhaps he'd just had a nightmare – that he and Martin had returned safely and all was fine.

That was, until he saw that Martin, with his hands bound behind his back, was shaking furiously. He was visibly trying to pull himself together and quash his panic judging by the set of his jaw and the expression of determination fighting for dominance on his face.

He nodded to Martin, signaling that he was ok, and surveyed the room a bit. Honestly, it was a bit cliché, what with its barren concrete walls and no windows. Exactly something he'd expect to see in a movie. He heard the door open and turned to the sound. He watched as a well-dressed man with neatly combed hair walked in – he was one of the tourists, the one that had injected Martin and smiled at him before everything went black.

Douglas, being Douglas and seemingly having no sense of self preservation, smirked. "What? No black cat? Don't villains usually carry those around with them?"

Martin gasped and shot a glare at Douglas but the man merely chuckled.

"Ah Mr. Richardson: the joker. I was hoping your sense of humour wouldn't leave you once you'd realised your predicament. Though I don't think you have…realised what's going on, that is."

Douglas rolled his eyes, not letting his surprise at the man's posh English accent show on his face, "Oh I'm sure I could guess. Kidnap some English tourists, then? Try to grind some ransom money out of the government? What are you, the translator? Though if you think you only need two of us to get your fill I'm afraid you're sorely mistaken."

The man stood for a moment, his eyes roving Douglas's face before throwing back his head and laughing.

Wiping an imaginary tear from his eye, the man calmed and looked between them again. "I'm afraid you're the one who's 'sorely mistaken,' Douglas. In fact, we don't want money at all; what we want is far more valuable. But you already knew that, didn't you?"

"I've no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't play dumb!" The man surged forward, all pretense of good-nature gone, and grabbed a fistful of Douglas's hair, yanking his head up to meet his eyes. "Nathaniel Atkins. Ring a bell? We've been watching you all since the third flight Mr. Atkins took with you. He trusts you, is even friends with you. Especially with your captain," he swung his head around to stare thoughtfully at Martin before turning back to Douglas, "I've seen you all chat with him. Nathaniel has never been a very friendly man. Now, what level of trust could get him to be as open as he has been with the two of you?" He released Douglas and stood up, watching the two of them again.

Martin stuttered, "He's j-j-just a client. Honestly, we have no idea what you're ta-"

Douglas winced as the man slapped Martin hard across the face, the sound seeming to echo for long seconds afterwards. Martin licked the bit of blood that had begun to flow from his lip and turned to face the nameless captor again.

"Fine. If you refuse to say anything, we'll have to try other methods." He smiled, a giddy look entering his eyes. "Unfortunately, Captain Crieff has no close family and your daughter, Mr. Richardson, is currently out of our…jurisdiction. We'll just have to use more, hm, physical methods." His smile grew wider and he looked back and forth between Douglas and Martin.

Douglas was now fearful of his current predicament. This man had just threatened to go after his family, if he could. This was obviously much bigger than he had anticipated, and Douglas had no doubts as to what "physical" was supposed to mean.

He spared a glance at Martin but, despite the blood flowing freely from the left corner of his mouth, he seemed fine. Professionally calm, really.

"Fortunately for one of you, I like to play with one subject, and one subject only for as long as possible before moving on." Douglas whipped his head around to watch as the man's face broke into a look of pure joy and excitement. He returned Douglas's stare and said, in an almost conspiratorial whisper, "It's always amusing, seeing how long it takes to break someone."

Douglas shivered. This man was insane.

"So, then. Which one of you wants to go first?"

Douglas spared a glance at Martin. He didn't like the odds. Either Martin would go and would likely die quickly whereas, if he himself went, he might stand a chance. At least long enough to allow help to find them, as it would – sooner or later.

He sighed, mentally preparing himself before raising his head and quirking an eyebrow, feigning nonchalance. "Well I suppose that'd be me then."

Martin gasped for the second time, quickly turning to look at Douglas, searching his face for a bluff that Douglas himself knew wasn't there.

"Douglas," he said in a strained whisper, "Stop what are you-"

The man laughed again as he watched the scene unfold before him. "That's adorable. I didn't think you'd be the martyr, Douglas. Actually, though, I've already decided who I want to take first."

He reached forward and grabbed Martin's hair, dragging him along to the door.

"What? Stop! I said I'd go!" Douglas watched while Martin struggled to get purchase, trying to move on his own rather than be dragged along. "Bring him back!"

The man threw Martin out to the others waiting outside of the door before turning back to Douglas. "Oh don't worry, you're going too." He nodded to others waiting outside who came in and roughly grabbed Douglas by his arms.

* * *

Dragging Douglas along, they followed the path that Martin was taking into another room that looked exactly like the one they'd just left, if not somewhat larger.

Douglas was thrown into the lone chair and strapped down. The chair was, unfortunately, stuck to the ground, leaving Douglas little wiggle room. He sat helplessly as Martin was stripped down to his pants, lifted, and chained up. The chains, all four of them, extended from opposite walls to the center of the room. Martin's ankles and wrists were clamped in and by the time they were done, Martin was effectively hanging in the center of the room – legs and arms spread so that he took the shape of a star.

He looked terrified; the faint rattling of the chains indicated that he was once again shaking. He met Douglas's eyes and seemed to calm down for a second before breaking eye contact and observing the sparse room some more.

They both jumped when the door opened and the same man from before walked in carrying…something.

Douglas didn't make an attempt at identifying the item, instead trying his best to catch Martin's eyes. He cooled his own expression into one of calm hoping to pass some of it to Martin.

The effect was somewhat lessened, however, when he heard it – he could now tell it was a whip – hit the wall.

Martin's jaw was clamped tight and his eyes were bright. Douglas, for his part, was having a hard time keeping himself calm as well. They sat in silence for a few moments until the man spoke, his voice deafening in the previous silence.

"I've decided to start with something a bit nicer: more familiar at least. We'll go for as long as I need to in order to get the information I want."

At this point Martin was vigorously shaking his head and struggling a bit. The man walked forward, patted his cheek, and shushed him. For a moment it was calm.

Then, quicker than Douglas would have thought possible, he raised the whip and brought it down hard against Martin's left side. Martin screeched and for a moment, Douglas couldn't breathe. He stared as Martin writhed and finally saw just what the man was using: a cat o' nine tails, something he'd seen in a documentary once. A modified whip - it had nine strips instead of the one, each tied at the end. From what he could see, there wasn't any metal or anything on it, so it wasn't as bad as it could be. Though that thought didn't help quash his nausea.

"Oh that was lovely, Martin. Do you have anything to say to me, now?"

Martin struggled for air for a minute before answering, "I-I don't…Please…I don't know…"

Before he could finish he was hit once again with the whip, this time on the right side. The man didn't stop this time, though. Instead he walked around Martin and began furiously whipping his back.

At about eleven slashes Douglas could no longer contain himself, "STOP IT!" He tried to yell over Martin but could tell the man couldn't hear him, too giddy in his pleasure at inflicting pain. "For God's sake, stop! We don't know anything. Atkins never told us anything." Douglas was wholeheartedly struggling now, wanting nothing more than to hear Martin stop being hit, to stop screaming.

Eventually, Martin did stop screaming. His screams quieted to whimpers and sobs and eventually stopped altogether – he was unconscious. The seconds of silence between lashes was terrifying and for one terrible moment, Douglas imagined Martin was dead. A few moments ago he hadn't wanted to hear any more screams but he knew now that they were better than this complete stillness.

The man gave Martin's unconscious body a few more lashes before stopping. He walked back around Martin and looked at Douglas. "Now that," he said, looking back at Martin "was a good workout." Once again, he threw his head back and laughed. Douglas was filled with a burning rage – it was the most hatred he'd ever felt towards someone and he could do nothing but sit in his chair and seethe with it.

The man stopped laughing and moved forward to pat Martin's cheek.

"Don't you fucking touch him," Douglas growled; all pretense of calm gone.

The man acted as if he hadn't heard him, instead continuing to pet Martin's face. Then, almost as quickly as he'd raised the whip for that first lash, he slapped Martin hard across the face.

Martin groaned and Douglas went still, waiting to see what was about to happen.

Martin opened his eyes and, after focusing on his surroundings, flinched back from the man so violently that he left himself swinging back and forth in the chains.

"I think," the man began, "that perhaps that was enough for today. Hopefully you recall that I said this was 'nicer'. I meant that. Next time I come in here, you'll be wishing the whip was all you had to endure, my boy. As you've probably noticed, I do so love seeing human beings in excruciating pain." He smiled, his face contorting into what some might dub an 'innocent expression. "I'll be back later. That is…as long as you have nothing important to say to me?"

Martin merely stared at the man with half-lidded eyes, breathing heavily.

"That's a shame then. Too-da-loo." He turned on his heal, smirking at Douglas before leaving again.

* * *

"Mar-Martin," Douglas said, his voice inexplicably cracking over the name. "Martin, look, I'm not going to ask if you're ok, I can see that you're not. Just say something, Martin."

Martin lifted his head to look at Douglas, his eyes were full of pain but were also soft, as if he were trying to smile at him but he couldn't muster the energy. "D-D-Doug-las." He coughed, trying to clear his throat. "I'm fine. My back stings a bit now, but it's only throbbing, it doesn't really hurt much anymore." For a moment he looked uncomfortable and Douglas knew what thought had crossed his mind. "He said…He said that it'd be worse. Next time."

Douglas could only nod. He had no idea what he was supposed to do, tied to a chair as he was. Especially when the mad man beating his friend wouldn't listen to any of his pleas. "I could try to switch. I'm not sure if it'll work but I'll ask the next time he comes in. At the very least if we switch we might last longer. It'd be better than try-"

"No!"

"Martin."

"No Douglas," Martin was losing consciousness fast but Douglas could tell that he wanted to say this no matter what. "As long as you're unhurt we have – have a chance. Of, of escape. You could at least run. Or something. Besides, I don't want to see you get hurt. Call me…selfish…"

Martin's head drooped and he was silent, out like a light.

Douglas shook his head, he was losing his composure. He had to keep his calm, for Martin's sake.


	3. Chapter 3

Awhile later (time was impossible to tell within the windowless room) the door slammed open. Martin flinched and was visibly trying to prepare himself.

However a different man entered carrying a tray of food and water. He unlocked one of Douglas's hands from its cuff and left the tray on his lap before quickly walking out again. They waited several minutes but no one else entered.

"You should eat."

Douglas looked up immediately preparing a negative response but Martin cut him off.

"Just eat, as-as much as you can at least. If I were in your position I'd be a bit nauseas. It'd be d-d-dumb not to, though."

Douglas begrudgingly agreed and took a few tentative bites. He downed the water and ended up leaving most of the food on the plate. He looked back at Martin who had his eyes closed – resting as best as he could. Douglas attempted to think up a game they could play; something like what they would play in G-ERTI but was interrupted by the door opening again.

"Finished with your meal already, Douglas? And after I'd been so generous."

Douglas stiffened at the all-too-familiar voice, opting to stay quiet until he knew what was going to happen.

The sound of a cart rolling across the concrete filled the room. From his position, Douglas could only barely see the door if he turned his head around but Martin could see perfectly what was happening.

The look on Martin's face did nothing to make Douglas feel more relaxed.

The man from earlier took the tray, re-cuffed Douglas's arm and went back to stand near the cart.

"I've decided on a few things. One: if you address me, I want you to call me Sir and nothing else. I realised last night how terribly rude I've been, not giving you a name with which to call me. Two: I'm giving you one more session with my more amiable side before I give you up as a lost cause and simply make you into an example for Mr. Atkins to see. And finally, three: you get a phone call after today's session. I think it will quite fun to see the panic that your call can incite. So Martin, perhaps that's enough incentive to stay awake this time, hm? You won't get your call if you're not coherent enough to speak, understand?"

Martin stared at The Man (this would simply just be his name now if he refused to give a legitimate one) over Douglas's shoulder and nodded minutely.

"Good. Now, I have some fun tools for the next few sessions though I thought I'd just leave them all in here. Now what first, what first?"

Douglas heard him pick something up off the cart and watched as Martin's eyes widened. For a moment it was completely silent until he heard it: the unmistakable sound of a blow torch.

The Man moved past Douglas, surveying Martin's body for a moment. He then got on his knees and lowered the flame to just below Martin's slightly suspended feet. It was quiet as Martin's brain raced to try to comprehend what was happening and when it did, Martin's scream could have easily shattered glass.

Douglas was overwhelmed with several different senses – Martin's and his own screams filling his ears, the smell of burning flesh filling his nostrils, and the taste of bile filling his mouth. He was going to throw up; this was too much. He struggled as best as he could but there was nothing he could do. The Man moved on to Martin's other foot, steadily moving the flame from ball to arch to heal. Martin was still screaming but it was quieter, more resigned.

Douglas couldn't watch anymore and instead tried to catch Martin's eyes. They were screwed tightly shut, though, and Douglas was left watching the incessant amount of tears fall.

Finally, the man stood up, though Douglas soon realised he wasn't finished.

He moved to the back of Martin and began burning the small of his back as well as the area over his spine. The further up he moved, Martin became increasingly stiffer until The Man stopped right between his shoulders and retraced the path back down to where he'd started.

The scent was too much and Douglas moved his head as far in front of the chair as his restraints would allow so that he could expel what little he'd eaten onto the floor. Finally, finally, as his retches petered out, he heard the blow torch click off.

The Man walked back to the cart and rummaged through it. Martin, sagging in his restraints, watched him. Eventually he came back, this time with a knife.

Martin struggled half-heartedly but The Man merely clucked his tongue and grabbed Martin by the throat. He was tall – even though Martin was suspended, he could still get good purchase on his neck. Douglas held his breath as he watched Martin's fight for breath become more and more frantic. When the man finally let go, it was only to grab Martin's hair and pull his head up.

He sliced a thin line along the pale expanse of Martin's throat, leaving it to bleed freely. From there he moved on to Martin's arms and legs, making little cuts here and there. Douglas's feeble medical knowledge informed him that The Man was making cuts in the areas where blood flow was minimal but the pain was the most. In other words, he was inflicting the most pain with the least amount of damage.

At this point, Martin no longer had much strength left to scream and merely whimpered whenever the knife made a new cut.

"That's more than enough, don't you think," Douglas asked, trying to sound as calm and rational as he could.

The Man didn't spare him a glance, instead saying, "That's more than enough…what?" He emphasised the word 'what' with a particularly brutal slash to the underside of Martin's bicep.

Douglas gulped, "That's more than enough…_Sir_."

The Man immediately stopped and grinned back at Douglas. "Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" He looked between the two of them. "Still nothing to say, huh?"

Both Martin and Douglas exchanged a look and stayed silent. This was hopeless, this man didn't believe them and there was nothing they could do to convince him otherwise.

"Hm. Well then, I suppose it's time for your phone call. I've changed my mind though, you only get one, and be quick about it, you have twenty minutes. I hope you have numbers memorised – I took the liberty of destroying both your phones."

He left a disposable mobile on Douglas's lap and nodded at the people waiting near the door. Two men rushed forward and unchained Martin, letting him fall haphazardly onto the floor eliciting a long, low moan when his back and feet came into contact with the hard concrete. Once that was done, all three of them left.

* * *

Douglas watched as Martin tried over and over again to sit up. Finally, after about the fourth time, Martin's arms didn't collapse out from under him and he pushed back enough to lean against the wall. He heaved a sigh and looked up at Douglas. He met his eyes and then lowered them to his lap, finally seeming to realise that there was, in fact, a phone in the room.

A look of pure determination spread across his features and he slowly pushed his way forward. Douglas didn't say anything, instead waiting to see how far Martin could make it. It was slow-going and Douglas was sure that they'd run out of time before Martin made it all the way over but he finally did, making sure to avoid the puddle of throw-up at Douglas's feet.

When he reached him, Martin took a moment to rest, setting his head on Douglas's thigh and breathing heavily. Douglas wanted nothing more than to be able to comfort him somehow but the restrains made it impossible to do anything.

After a bit, Douglas cleared his throat, "I thought Carolyn might be the best option, I don't know Atkins's number."

Martin nodded against his thigh and slowly lifted his hands to take the phone. It was a decrepit flip model, something used maybe a decade or so ago. Martin opened it up and gasped. Douglas was hit with an irrational fear that the phone had somehow hurt Martin and waited for him to say something.

Martin raised his head to look at Douglas, his eyes bright and said, "The phone. I-I mean the date on the phone. It says that today is the sixteenth."

Douglas felt his eyes widen. If that was true, then they'd only been here for little over a day – maybe thirty six hours. They had flown in on the fourteenth and were supposed to leave on the eighteenth. Meaning that if they didn't get this phone call, no one would have even known they were gone for another two days.

"Well I suppose we're lucky that our captor is a bit of a nutcase then," Douglas said, looking Martin in the eye. "It means he's insane enough to allow us to call home and signal our distress earlier than we would be able to otherwise."

Martin nodded and lowered his eyes back to the screen, typing in Carolyn's number. His hands had begun shaking again and it took him a couple tries to get it in right. Finally, he raised the phone to his ear and locked eyes with Douglas as it rang through.

"Knapp-Shappey residence. I'm Arthur. Wait-I mean, this is Arthur Knapp-Shappey speaking. Who's this. Wait, that's wrong too…"

Martin closed his eyes as he heard Arthur's voice. "Arthur," he interrupts. Douglas could hear that he was trying to make his voice sound as normal as possible – not scratchy and small from screaming. Apparently it worked though when he heard a loud shriek that sounded like "Skip!" resonate from the phone.

"Arthur please, let me talk to Carolyn. It's very important."

Douglas smiled a bit when Arthur hurried to comply with Martin's request, babbling furiously as he did so. He could hear the moment the phone was handed off when a much quieter and much more annoyed voice took over.

"Carolyn. I -." Martin stopped. Douglas could hear Carolyn's incessant babble of words. "Carolyn stop. Listen, please." He rolled his eyes at Douglas, a ghost of a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. Finally, when Carolyn stopped rambling, his expression became serious. "Carolyn I need you to call Mr. Atkins. No, he didn't forget anything on the plane. No. Wait, just listen, _please_. Carolyn, we're in a bit of trouble. Well, I say a bit." A pause. "No, it's got nothing to do with Douglas. Gambling? Why would you even...Just wait a moment. It has to do with Mr. Atkins. Just. I don't know, we're just…we've been..." Martin was obviously flustered; he wasn't sure what to say, "Um, well, we're being held captive ok? Yes, it has _everything_ to do with him! I don't know, they think he's told us something important. No, I don't know who they are. Carolyn just call him and find out. No, I'm not sure where we are. We need help, please, I'm not sure-"

They both jumped as the door slammed open once again, Martin dropping the phone at the same time. Douglas could hear Carolyn's frantic questions squawking from the receiver of the phone.

"Time's up!"

The Man and the two others from earlier came over and dragged Martin back to his side of the room. He picked up the phone and put it to his ear.

"So is this the infamous Carolyn Knapp-Shappey? Lovely. There's no need to worry, I'm taking good care of your boys." He stopped and nodded at the men. One grabbed Martin's hand and before either of them could figure out what was going on, Douglas heard a quiet snap and Martin's piercing cry. He then heard Carolyn speaking quickly but The Man interrupted her. "Now listen. I want you to tell Mr. Atkins that whatever happens to these boys is his fault and he needs to make it right. They refuse to talk so I'll just wait until he has something to say. He knows what I want. Goodbye then." He snapped the phone shut, threw it to the ground, and stomped on it.

Then, he walked back to the cart and grabbed something.

"We're done with this game we've been playing; I'm tired of being nice and trying to get you to talk. Now, I'm going to let loose and not give a damn about anything you have to say. Nathaniel Atkins has been or will be notified about the situation and we'll see how he's going to respond. Until then…"

He surged forward with the hammer that he'd grabbed. Douglas shrieked at him, struggling with renewed vigour.

The Man raised the weapon over his head and brought it down squarely on Martin's outstretched leg. The snap was sickening, resounding through the room and Martin could only cry out in agony. He was being held down by the other men and though his leg wasn't restrained, if he moved it, it would only cause more pain.

Douglas stared blankly at the bone of Martin's shin – the Tibia, his brain kindly inform him – that was now protruding from the skin of his leg. Martin's upper body twisted, writhing about in pain. The men holding him flipped him over, one sitting on his back and the other laying his hand flat on the floor. One by one, The Man took the hammer and smashed the fingers on Martin's left hand, Martin crying with more force every time.

He set the hammer down after finishing with that hand and pulled out a pair of pliers from his pocket. He had one of his minions switch Martin's hands so that the right one was outstretched now.

Douglas knew what was coming and nearly retched again.

"Stop," he pleaded. "Please, just stop. Isn't this enough for now?"

The man ignored him, finding purchase with the pliers on Martin's index fingernail and pulling. The nail came off much more easily than Douglas thought it should and he felt a tear streak down his face as Martin sobbed anew.

"Just-_Sir_! Sir, stop, please."

But The Man wouldn't hear him. He continued down the hand, de-nailing every finger and the thumb. Finally he stood up and turned around, looking Douglas right in the eye. His own eyes were cold and hard, full of steel that Douglas had yet to witness. But his face was smiling; his look of jubilance one that would have rivaled Arthur. "I thought I told you I was done listening to what you had to say. Your pleading will get you nowhere but feel free to continue, it's lovely to hear."

He walked back to the cart, leaving Douglas breathing nearly as heavily as Martin, terrified of what was to come next.

The Man returned with the same knife from before and switched places with the man on Martin's back.

From where Douglas was, he could now see a bit of the mess that Martin's back had become – he hadn't been able to get a good look at it thus far. Once again, he felt as if he was going to throw up, even though he had nothing left in his stomach to expel. The Man lowered the knife to the top of the long burn, right in between Martin's shoulder blades. From there he traced it down, back through the charred skin, splitting it right down the center.

Martin was crying wholeheartedly, the top of his body heaving with every sob. Douglas found tears streaming down his face too – he couldn't hold it back. He watched his friend's face contort more and more into a look of pure pain and agony. He shook with the force of his sadness and anger. He wanted to jump out of his seat and shove the knife through The Man's throat. He wanted him to experience as much pain as Martin was right now.

The Man raised the knife again and returned it to the spot in between Martin's shoulders. He lowered his head so that his lips were even with Martin's ear and started whispering. Martin was obviously shaken by what he said though Douglas would probably never know what it was. The Man then lifted himself back up and began carving a word on Martin's back. Martin screeched and cried harder. Douglas strained to see what it was but to no avail.

When he was done with the word, he turned himself around and reached for Martin's feet, carving circles in the left one first. When he was done he grabbed the other incidentally pulling at Martin's broken shin as well. Martin let out a keening whine, his eyes opening wide. The Man lowered the knife but stopped, pulling his hand back and reaching a hand out for no apparent reason.

After a moment, one of his lackeys seemed to realise what The Man was asking for and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes. After he'd lighted one, he handed it over and The Man proceeded to jam the tip directly into the center of the arch of Martin's foot.

Martin's mouth opened but no sound came out – his scratched and abused throat unable to produce anymore screams. The Man dropped Martin's foot and returned to his original position on Martin's back. He reached his hand out again, waiting for another newly-lit cigarette to be lit and handed to him. He grabbed a fistful of Martin's hair and wrenched his head up harshly quickly pushing the tip to the area just underneath Martin's left ear.

He had one more cigarette lit and held it in front of Martin's eye. Douglas froze, not even daring to breathe. Martin's contorted chest was heaving but besides that, he wasn't moving at all, his eyes focused solely on the cigarette tip only about ten centimetres in front of him. The Man's hand twitched and he moved it forward, towards the eye. Martin tried to shake out of his grasp but dehydration and lack of food had made him weak. Douglas shouted but to no avail. The cigarette moved slowly forward –

And diverted to the corner of Martin's eye.

Douglas sighed in relief, sagging in his seat. He was having a hard enough time dealing with this and nothing was actually happening to him. He wasn't sure how much more he could take, let alone Martin. One thing was true though: Martin was so much stronger than he'd originally predicted.

All three men stood up then, allowing Martin's head to drop unceremoniously to the floor. They all walked out without another word and Douglas was left staring at Martin's motionless body.

* * *

Douglas opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out. He tried again, finally able to quietly call Martin's name. When Martin didn't move, Douglas pulled at his restraints, calling his name over and over again. The blood loss was minimal – The Man didn't want to kill him at least, (thank the powers that be for small mercies), but Douglas knew from his few crazy years in medical school that shock or infection were just as dangerous as actual wounds. He called for Martin again and again, not stopping until he saw his arm twitch.

It was a small movement, but it was enough.

Martin groaned and lifted his head, looking at Douglas but obviously not recognizing who he was. He looked around a bit more and finally lowered his head again to sleep.

Douglas fervently hoped that Martin was confused because he was exhausted and not because he was feverish, but he had no way of knowing. He watched Martin rest for a bit and realised that, now that the adrenaline was flushing itself out of his system, he was quite tired as well. He had no idea how long it had been since he'd last slept but he knew it was longer than was healthy.

He didn't want to leave Martin alone here, though. He knew he was useless even when he was awake but the thought of not being aware of anything that might happen terrified him. It was a ridiculous notion, thinking that sleeping would mean abandoning Martin but it wouldn't leave his mind.

However his eyelids were drooping. The days had taken their toll on him and he couldn't hope to stay awake. Without meaning to Douglas closed his eyes, his body forcing itself into a much-needed sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

When Douglas awoke, it was with a jolt and a deep feeling of guilt. His head whipped back and forth so as to survey the room, making sure it was clear. It was – The Man was nowhere to be found nor were his goons.

Finally his eyes rested on Martin who was in a different position than before. He was slouching against the wall, looking at Douglas with glassy eyes. Douglas surveyed Martin's body, making sure he hadn't missed anything, and his eyes caught on his knees which were heavily bound with bandages.

Martin smiled when Douglas met his eyes and chuckled, "They didn't want me bleeding out before you woke up."

"Jesus Martin, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. What…what happened?"

"They've run." He laughed again and Douglas shivered, Martin was obviously at least a bit delirious. "Seems Atkins is more powerful than they thought. With him and Carolyn together, there's nothing to stop them from reaching us." He giggled again, but when he opened his eyes, tears were falling from them.

"Martin, just tell me what's going on."

"You didn't even notice did you?"

"Notice what? Martin! Notice what?"

"You've been in that chair for so many hours, you're used to it by now."

"What are you…" Douglas looked down and finally saw what Martin was referring to. His arms were unrestrained, though his legs were still cuffed.

"They left the key with me," he laughed again and picked the key up from his lap. "But I can't even move; they've made sure of it." He looked down at his knees and a sob escaped his throat. "I'll die here in this very position and neither of us can do anything about it."

"Martin, look, I know it's hard but you need to get the key to me somehow. I can reach, just get it in this general direction."

Martin laughed, his eyes unfocused as he looked at Douglas again. "I'm pathetic Douglas, I can't do anything. I'll throw it and you won't be able to reach it and what then? I've never been good enough for anything. Can't even make it through a couple of injuries without crying like a baby. " He trailed off, staring at the ceiling.

Douglas was frantic now, Martin was speaking quickly and he was obviously feverish. He had no idea how much blood he'd lost or how far along Martin's infection was but he needed to help him as soon as possible regardless.

Before Douglas could respond though, he heard Martin cry out in pain and the key clattered to the ground.

Douglas forced himself forward but wasn't able to reach it. He moved so that he was completely out of the chair, his legs straining in their contorted position. He'd likely pull a few tendons and muscles like this but he didn't care. He crawled across the floor to the key, moving as far away from the chair as his bound legs would allow and then some. He reached once, twice, and finally found purchase. He quickly crawled backwards and unlocked his ankles, practically flopping out of his chair when he did.

He'd been sitting in the same position for days and it showed. Though he'd had food, he was still weak and had to take a moment to allow his floppy limbs to regain circulation before he could sit up.

He rushed over to where Martin was, trying to avoid the surrounding puddles of still-drying blood on the floor. Martin was moving his head back and forth, unable to focus on anything for more than a few seconds. Douglas took his pulse and surveyed his newest wounds, stifling a sob when he saw what the bandages covered. They bastards had sliced his hamstrings making it impossible for him to move even if he could. He'd been stuck here for however long it took for Douglas to wake up. Douglas couldn't believe that he'd been so exhausted that he slept through this newest torture but the proof was there right in front of him.

Before he could look for any more threatening wounds he heard…something. He couldn't be sure but it sounded like footsteps. He immediately turned towards the door and blocked Martin from view as best as he could.

The door burst open and two uniformed men with guns rushed in. They stopped short upon seeing Douglas before one turned around yelling the all clear to whoever was following them. The men then stepped out of the way of Nathaniel Atkins and Carolyn.

Douglas heaved a sob when he saw them and backed against the wall to collect Martin into his arms as carefully as he could so as to protect him from the confusion that the ruckus was sure to make. Atkins looked forlornly upon the scene before turning to the nearest uniformed man and whispering something. Carolyn ran forward and silently looked between the two, her eyes bright.

She reached out to touch Martin's cheek.

"How could this have happened," she muttered, more to herself than anyone else, "How did such a promising prospect turn into something so utterly horrible?"

Douglas shook his head and watched as paramedics rushed in, carefully extracting a now sleeping Martin from his arms.

"I've no idea how or exactly why, Carolyn," he said, meeting her eyes for a moment before turning back to watch the work of the paramedics, "But what I do know is that somehow, against all odds, we're both alive. And for now that's good enough."

". . ."

"That's good enough."


	5. Chapter 5

**I wrote these next two chapters because the OP requested some comfort; I've intended this as an epilogue of sorts. If you're here for all whump and no comfort, this is where you stop. If you'd like to see some aftermath, continue on :).**

* * *

Douglas awoke with a start, quickly looking around the spacious hospital room before leaning back and working the crick out of his neck.

It'd been a week now since they'd been found and carted off to the nearest Turkish hospital and still Douglas was having a hard time sleeping, despite the trained security guards outside the door to Martin's hospital room.

He sighed, his eyes finally settling on Martin.

He was sleeping, as he'd been doing for practically the entire week. And for that, Douglas was glad. Martin had woken once early-on in their stay, feverish and terrified. It was an experience Douglas would rather not re-live.

Douglas surveyed the visible wounds on Martin for the thousandth time: both his hands were bound (though each for different reasons), his arms were covered in bandages, his legs were lying straight, one flat and the other in a cast suspended above the bed, and the burns on his face were neatly bandaged as well. He'd had surgery done on his legs to repair his hamstrings and reset his bone; though that had been while Douglas was still in his own room.

He looked down at his own legs. Both of his knees were in braces to heal the hyperextension caused by reaching for the godforsaken key but besides that, he had no other injuries.

Not for the first time, anger swelled in his chest as he thought about how much Martin had suffered, only to be replaced with disgust and guilt at his own uselessness.

He sat silently with his thoughts for awhile until the door to the room tentatively opened to allow in none other than Mr. Atkins himself. Douglas stared at the man, not sure what to feel. He could be angry at having been put in this situation thanks to him but it wasn't as if the man wanted this to happen to either of them. (Besides, Carolyn had already yelled at him enough for the both of them). He settled for bored and skeptical and waited for Atkins to start talking.

"I, um," he cleared his throat a bit and looked around the room, "I trust that the hospital staff is taking good care of the both of you?"

Douglas nodded.

"That's good. You know, I can arrange for another cot or something to be brought in here. You look like you could use some sleep in something other than that plastic chair."

"If you're referring to my exhausted expression I don't believe a change in comfort will alleviate that. One tends to sleep poorly after an experience such as this no matter what they're laying on. Besides, this room is spacious, I grant you, but it's still a hospital room; I'd rather not clutter it up with another bed when I'm hardly sleeping anyway. Thank you, though, for getting us such a lovely room in the first place."

Atkins nodded, looking a bit sheepish. For all the power that he supposedly had, he was about as socially graceful as Martin usually was. He cleared his throat again before continuing, "That's no problem. Now, I have to return to England tomorrow and I wanted to make sure you didn't need anything else. My assistant will be here just in case but I'd like to see to any matters personally before I depart."

Douglas looked back at Martin before speaking, "Actually, a few requests, if you please."

Atkins nodded, leaning against the wall as he waited for Douglas to continue.

"First, I know you assured Carolyn and myself earlier that you'd handle the group of men that took us and for that I'm grateful, however; I'd like your word that until they're caught you'll have someone watch over us, Carolyn and Arthur, as well as my daughter. They threatened her and if anything happens to my child I can promise you that Carolyn's earlier anger will seem like a walk in the park to you. And, when you have found them, just let me know. I don't care what you do with them but I need to know they're no longer out there."

"Of course."

"Second: as spacious and nice as this hospital room may be, I would prefer to get back to England as soon as possible. Whenever Martin is fit to travel, it would be lovely if we as well as our plane could secure passage back to our wondrous country without too much hassle."

"As soon as Martin can, you're all scheduled for an all-expenses paid flight back to England. Your aeroplane will be brought back by two pilots of my acquaintance."

"Excellent. Thirdly and finally, Martin cannot hope to keep up his delivery job nor can he live alone in his dank attic while in such a state. I don't know what you want to do about the former but I believe he'll need a friend during his recovery which is why I'd like you to move his things from his flat to my own in a timely fashion as well as pay his rent as long as he is unable to. I trust you'll have no problem with that seeing as how he's living in the cheapest form of housing legally available."

"That won't be an issue. In fact, I believe Martin will no longer have to depend solely on his delivery business any longer. MJN Air is about to come into quite a bit of money."

Douglas raised an eyebrow, "Oh?"

"I would have loved to continue flying with your company for the five months I had previously alluded to; however, I believe your CEO has made it perfectly clear that I am no longer welcome. You will, though, receive the money those flights would have left you. Consider it a donation, at the very least. Otherwise consider it part of my apology. I never wanted this to happen and I'm so sorry it did. I was careless and you both paid the price. I can't hope to make it up to you but I'm going to try to start by upholding your requests."

Douglas sighed in relief, feeling as if a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders. With Atkins worrying about all the particulars, Douglas himself could focus on making sure his own and, more importantly, Martin's, recovery went smoothly.

* * *

It was another few days before Martin fully regained consciousness, days filled with many visits from Carolyn (sometimes on the phone with Arthur and Herc who were "hanging out" while Carolyn was away), and, most of all, quiet.

The day Martin woke up in a coherent state he didn't let Douglas know, rather, he stayed completely still and remained so with his eyes closed, breathing erratically. Had Douglas not been looking at him, he wouldn't have noticed.

After a few moments of silence Douglas became worried, "Martin?"

Martin jumped but besides that he remained still.

"Martin, are you in pain? We can increase your morphine."

Martin quickly opened his eyes, wincing at the light and focusing immediately on Douglas, looking vaguely surprised. He opened his mouth to say something but no sound was forthcoming. Douglas, slower than he would've liked, realized that Martin's throat was far too dry to be able to voice anything. He grabbed some ice from his mostly empty water glass. He regretted drinking it so quickly but there was nothing to be done at this point.

He placed a cube carefully into Martin's mouth, trying hard to avoid his split lip. He went through it quickly and Douglas continued feeding them to Martin until there were no more left.

"Thank you, Douglas."

Douglas winced at the scratchy voice – ice cubes could only do so much for a throat as dry as he knew Martin's probably was.

"Well I imagined you'd be quite thirsty, only eating and drinking through your arm for the past couple of weeks."

Martin blanched, "Weeks?!"

Douglas mentally chastised himself, now was not the time to put Martin into a panic.

"You had an infection; you were very sick and had to sleep it off. It's alright. Everything has been taken care of."

Martin nodded and looked down at himself, "I didn't even know we were out. How…?"

_Ah_, Douglas thought, _that explains why he woke up the way he did_. "Atkins scared our captors away and got us out of there. Seems that phone call wasn't such a good idea after all."

Martin merely nodded, still staring down at his legs. Eventually he lifted his hands, slowly turning them as if he were carefully inspecting them.

Douglas pointedly cleared his throat, "Yes, well. I'm going to call up your doctor now. They're going to want to talk to you and perform a couple of tests, assuming you're ok with that."

Martin nodded, still staring blankly at his fingers.

"Do you want me to stay while the doctor is here?"

Martin met his eyes for a minute before quickly turning away to face the opposite wall. "I, um, well, if you…if you want to stay I-I wouldn't mind."

He set a hand on Martin's shoulder for a moment before pressing the call button. He felt him tense up and then relax, little by little. They stayed like that until the doctor and a few nurses entered a couple minutes later.

* * *

The human mind is an interesting thing, especially when it comes to memory. _Well, perhaps interesting isn't the right word_, Douglas mused, watching as Martin became more and more frantic, _terrifying would probably be more accurate. That it can so easily forget some things and remember other, less important matters is frightening, to say the least_.

"Mr. Crieff, I assure you, it will take some time but you'll make a full recovery. Your rehabilitation period has already been set up with Mr. Richardson here and I'm assured that your employer is aware of the situation."

Martin was still shaking his head, looking wordlessly at his legs, tears threatening to spill out of his eyes at any second.

"Perhaps, Doctor, you can give us a moment?"

The doctor looked at Douglas and back at Martin before conceding, "Of course. I'll be back later."

As soon as the door shut behind him, Douglas took a seat on the edge of Martin's bed. "Martin, look at me."

It took a moment but eventually Martin raised his head and stared at Douglas.

"Now, let's take this one step at a time, shall we? What's the last thing you remember clearly?"

Martin raised a hand to his eye, setting his fingers on the bandage there before answering, "This. I remember th-the cigarette but after that it's really, I just, how can I not…"

"I imagine you were already sick at that point. Do you remember nothing else past that?"

The tears had finally set themselves free of Martin's eyes but he continued anyway, "Just fragments. I remember you sleeping," Douglas winced, he was hoping that'd be something Martin forgot in his fever-induced haze, "but I remember him – th-the man – saying something about you wh-when he came back in. After that I remember you asking me for a key o-or something and that's it."

"And that's fine, your fever was extremely high coupled with trauma; honestly, I wouldn't expect you to remember much else."

"But my legs! How do I forget something like that? How am I supposed to-supposed to work? A broken leg was bad enough and now this? I can't get up to my flat like this. I'll have to stay somewhere else for awhile but I don't have the money to…"

Douglas decided he'd nip this problem in the bud. At the very least, he could quell Martin's fears about this petty matter. "You'll be happy to know, Martin, that while you've been sleeping, all of that has been taken care of."

"I-What?"

"Your things are at my house for the time being. You'll be staying with me for as long as you need and the rent on your flat is covered by our gracious government until you can get back to work."

Martin's eyes were moving back and forth, intently studying Douglas's face. "I can't. Douglas, I can't pay you back. You shouldn't have to be stuck with me like this. I can't clean or cook o-or –"

"That's enough, Martin. I don't expect you to clean, there's not much to do anyhow. As for meals, it's a well known fact that I am a literal genius behind the stove; mastering the culinary arts has been something I enjoy doing so think nothing of it. Finally, I don't expect you to pay me back. Besides, this is good for both of us. You see, I've had a tough time sleeping, an experience I'm sure you'll share. Being in a large, empty house does not do much in the way of comfort so honestly, you'll be doing me a favour by being present in the first place."

Martin continued to stare, obviously not yet convinced.

"Not to mention the fact that you'll need help healing. For one thing, you'll need to stretch and move your legs often, something that the nurses have been doing for you up until this point. I'll wager that moving your leg with that bulky cast on it is a bit of a challenge. I can help you with your stretches. Also, I doubt you've yet to master the art of being able to contort to reach your feet around that cast which is why you'll need my help. There are creams and various other anti-bacterials to put on the wounds both to your back and to your feet. Besides, staying with a medically-trained man such as myself makes it so that you can get out of this bloody hospital faster."

Martin snorted and smiled a tiny bit, "Medically trained, my arse."

Relief surged through Douglas – he'd managed to get through to the prideful fool. "Any more contentions with my master plan?"

He shook his head, "If you really don't mind th-then neither do I, I suppose. At least now I won't have to climb three flights of stairs to get to a bedroom."

Douglas patted his shoulder before moving himself back to his seat, "Really, Martin. You should learn not to question my decisions."

Martin smirked (it was small but it was there) before settling himself back into the pillows, "No, I suppose I shouldn't, should I?"


	6. Chapter 6

Almost two weeks later, Martin and Douglas were finally back in England. Carolyn had assured Douglas that any flights were being taken care of by Herc so both he and Martin could rest for as long as they needed.

Douglas was ok with having a few weeks off; he wasn't sure exactly what he'd do but he knew now was a time for pure relaxation and rehabilitation. Martin, on the other hand, seemed saddened by the prospect. He'd been quiet since waking up, talking only when spoken to and performing, frankly, pathetically during the few word games Douglas had attempted to start. Douglas knew he wasn't going to be ok right away but some sign that he was at least getting somewhat better psychologically might be nice.

The car that had picked them up pulled up to the kerb outside of the house before Douglas could think too deeply about what he wanted to do with Martin. He hopped out and grabbed the wheelchair from the boot of the car; Martin loathed using it but he still couldn't put too much pressure on his legs.

"It's really rather late, isn't it," Douglas said as they moved over the threshold. "Are you hungry or do you want to go straight to bed?"

"Bed, please."

And this was where it got a bit awkward. Martin's doctor had let them both out confident that Martin would continue to receive treatment from Douglas but he wasn't sure: did he simply assume Martin remembered the stern 'every night before bed' prescription? Or did he ask? It wasn't as if Martin could really deny treatment.

Douglas sighed, he wasn't used to being so wrong-footed but he felt as if he had to treat Martin with care lest he break apart.

"The salve is in your bag, yes?"

Martin stiffened in his seat, "Yes. Look, I can do it myself if you want."

"Don't be foolish. Now, take off your shirt and I'll have this done quickly so you can sleep. We can save stretching for the morning."

They had arrived in Martin's room and he moved himself slowly from the chair to the bed. Douglas busied himself with finding the ointment and new bandages while Martin gradually unbuttoned his shirt.

"The nurses did this for you but I was usually there watching so it shouldn't be too different. Let me know if the pain is too much."

Martin nodded and Douglas moved around the bed to sit behind him.

No matter how many times he saw it, he'd never get used to the sight of Martin's back.

He used the burn cream first, using his fingers to trace it over the raw skin. This elicited a hiss of pain from Martin but nothing further. When that was done he moved on to the whip marks with a different balm. These were at least better looking – most of them weren't too severe and had begun to heal quite nicely. As he finished with that he took a moment to compose himself before moving on to the top of Martin's back.

Carved in jagged block letters was the word _Sir's_. It disgusted Douglas beyond measure. That man had attempted to mark Martin as his own. Besides that, he'd inadvertently (or perhaps intentionally, who was to say at this point) used the same name that Douglas occasionally had for Martin. Their friendly banter concerning that title was now undermined – Douglas would never be able to, if he even wanted to, use that word again. The doctor had said that skin grafts were available but it'd be awhile before Martin was healed enough to undergo more surgery.

"I told you that you didn't have to do it if you didn't want to."

Douglas started; he hadn't realized that he'd been so caught up in his thoughts that he'd stopped moving altogether. It would seem that this was becoming a consistent problem during these past few weeks.

"Martin that's not it I'm just…" He didn't know what to say that wouldn't give Martin the wrong impression.

"Disgusted? Yes, me too. Just hand me the stuff and I can finish, you've gotten what I can't reach already."

"And I suppose you'll get your feet too? I'm going to finish, just sit tight." Douglas continued with applying the cream. It was a few moments before he realized what Martin likely meant. "When you say disgusted-"

"I mean that it's sick," Martin said, cutting him off and suddenly seeming very angry. "I'm now some man's personal possession and it's revolting. It wasn't enough that he nearly kills me, makes it so that I'm dependent on every bloody person that I know, but then he has to sign me too. And not even with his real _fucking_ name. No. It's "sir". Now, until I can get those grafts I'm just identified as some man's plaything. It's a wonder anyone wants to help me, I'm pathetic." Martin finished his tirade with a violent sob, pushing his body away from Douglas's hands and burying his face in his own.

Douglas felt completely out of his depth. He had no idea what to say. He sat for a moment listening to Martin's quiet sobs, contemplating what to do. Eventually he stood up, wiping his hands on a towel that he'd brought and moved back around the bed so that he was facing Martin.

He knelt down in front of him but Martin still wouldn't look at him. His shoulders were heaving but he was obviously trying to control his crying.

Without a word, Douglas positioned himself next to Martin and carefully wrapped his arms around him. For a second, Martin went completely still. After a few moments, though, he leaned into Douglas and wailed.

Douglas sat his cheek on the top of Martin's head. He didn't shush him, he didn't say a word. He simply sat and let Martin cry for as long as he wanted.

* * *

"Martin. Martin, wake up."

Douglas shook Martin's shoulder carefully: trying to wake him up without jarring his back too much.

"Martin, please."

It'd been a few weeks since they'd arrived back and finally, they were both returning to their former dynamic. Martin was no longer so quiet and, despite the occasional black mood, he was actually quite happy. They bantered often and Martin had gotten used to his physical ailments; he was able to function despite them and, in just a couple of weeks, Martin would be cast free and able to fly (as a paid pilot this time) once again.

Nightmares, on the other hand, were a different story. Douglas knew that getting rid of them would take awhile – he still had some of his own, but not with as much frequency as Martin did. _And still Martin is suffering when I'm not. How can this be fair?_

"You've got that look on your face again."

Douglas jumped, nearly falling off of the edge of the bed in surprise. Once again he'd lost himself in thought; so much so that he hadn't noticed that Martin had stopped thrashing.

"I believe this is my natural face."

"You get that look a lot now. What were you thinking about?"

"It was nothing," Douglas said, looking Martin over. The man was still shaking minutely; obviously this latest nightmare was affecting him more than usual. "Now, enough about me. What was this one about?"

They'd determined weeks ago that talking about their nightmares was better than trying to hide them, but Douglas could still tell that Martin was uncomfortable.

"I, um, I remembered. What happened while you were…sleeping."

Douglas flinched despite himself – that was still a sore topic for him.

"There's that face again. What did I say?"

"Nothing, Martin, you didn't say anything. Continue."

"I can't. Not when you're looking so -," Martin's eyes suddenly widened and he looked at Douglas with a new intensity. "Oh my god. It's guilt. You're guilty. What could you possibly have to be guilty about?"

Douglas looked away. They were supposed to be talking about Martin's latest nightmare, not Douglas's feelings. He jumped when Martin touched his shoulder.

"Douglas…"

"Martin, I don't think now is really the time."

"I think it is. For over a month now you've dealt with my rehabilitation and all that encompasses: my anger, my sadness, my nightmares. Not once have I had to help you. You've had a couple nightmares, yes. But now I see that those were never your main problem. Please, Douglas. Let me help you."

Douglas sighed, he wasn't going to get out of this; it was a conversation a long time in coming. "Fine, Martin. 'What could I possibly have to be guilty for?' Perhaps a list is in order. First, you were bloody well _tortured_ while I did _nothing_. All I did was sit and let it happen. Second, I didn't make a single attempt to switch places. I should have tried at least, but I didn't, even when He was still in a good enough mood to listen. Then, when you still needed me, I fell asleep. I left you alone in the only way I could and now you've remembered perfectly well how I abandoned you. Frankly, Martin, I think you should hate me, resent me at the very least for being left alone while you suffered. But you don't. And I don't understand why."

For a few seconds, Martin was quiet, just staring at Douglas before he said, "You weren't asleep. You were unconscious. That's what I remembered. He had told me before he…yeah." He held up a hand to pause Douglas's questions, "He said that they'd drugged the food and the water that he gave you but it was…it was slow acting. More-so because of the ad-adrenaline pumping through your system. He told me he didn't have the time to physically hurt you but that would be enough."

"Martin if you're just saying that…"

"I'm not and it upsets me so much! I'm so angry that he realized how you were feeling immediately when it took me _weeks_. And had I not remembered what he said and seen your face with my own eyes you'd continue to feel guilty without my knowing. Yes, Douglas, I was – I was…tortured. But there was nothing else you could have done. You told him you wanted to go first! You tried to protect me but he didn't let you. And had you tried to switch, he probably would have ignored you like he did at the start and you know it. You heard him: one subject. That's what he said."

Martin ended his speech, breathing heavily and staring at Douglas, daring him to refute. Douglas, for his part, had no idea what to say – he hadn't even considered the possibility that he'd been drugged.

They sat in silence for awhile, not knowing how to continue. They both jumped when Douglas's phone alerted him to a new text message.

"It's five in the morning for god's sake," Douglas said as he reached into his dressing gown pocket. He flicked the phone on, wincing at the bright light.

After a couple moments of silence Martin became worried, "Douglas? Douglas, what's wrong?"

Douglas looked from his phone to Martin, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. He turned the phone in Martin's direction so he could read the message as well.

**FWD: Confirmed: Turkish Terrorist group apprehended – 03:27 local Fitton time. Cease government surveillance – 05:12 local Fitton time. **

_If any problems arise feel free to call._  
-N. Atkins.

Martin quickly turned his head away in a futile attempt to hide his tears. Douglas just grinned.

They were still in the midst of recovery but this was the closure they needed. It was over.

Despite everything that had happened, they were safe.

And that was far better than "good enough".

It was bloody fantastic.

* * *

**I shouldn't say I enjoyed writing something like this, but the challenge of trying to capture the emotions that went with something like this made it fun. **

**Comments and concrit are always welcome here or on my tumblr.**

**As always, thanks for reading!**


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